


Strider Scale of Adult Anger

by Kyrios (orphan_account)



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Child Abuse, M/M, Recovery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-11
Updated: 2018-06-11
Packaged: 2019-05-21 02:59:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14907059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/Kyrios
Summary: A system devised to help fearful kids avoid further issues with adults, the Strider Scale of Adult Anger conveniently notes ways to make awful situations a little bit better.





	Strider Scale of Adult Anger

**Author's Note:**

> HEEEEEEED THE WARNINGS. please. this is entirely about child (physical, emotional) abuse and recovery prospects. don’t hurt yourself by reading fiction. don’t make a punishment out of it. you deserve better.
> 
> anyway. posting embarrassingly personal fanfiction haha wow what’s next

This document was written for kids who are constantly afraid of their parental figures, even when everything isn't quite that bad, in hopes they’ll be able to forego these rules someday.

* * *

**One.**

Level one in the Strider Scale of Adult Anger is the constant, near-inaudible buzz that digs under your skin and makes it crawl like bugs to sugar. It’s always there, in the _katana_ hanging on your wall and all over the apartment. Everything is a threat when you live with him, and he's always prone to getting mad. This is the stage where things can be reversed; the scales haven't been tipped just yet, and it means you can try to be good. You can do your best to learn the basic skills he never taught you, and you can stay silent and acknowledge the implicit _don’t fuck with me_ in everything he does.

When he's on this stage, don't fuck up. Avoid failure at any costs. Don't be mouthy—confrontation used to run in your veins but now it's been mostly beaten out of you, so don't make any witty retorts. At a Strider scale one, fear is there, but it's subdued, and you're glad for small mercies.

* * *

**Two.**

Some days, he'll just wake up at a two. Others, you may be personally responsible for the escalation, which means your brain needs to be kicked into overdrive to compensate. Either way, regardless of the reason for his anger, always keep an eye on your escape route, cover yourself in more layers to avoid the damage he may cause with a sudden hit. Surround yourself with ways to lessen the impact, don’t let your guard down, ever. Assume every single movement he makes is going to be his next strike, because it's better to be safe than sorry.

Avoid any kind of chore or activity you're not proficient at—it’s better than the venom in his voice when he says you're not quite there yet, haven't learned to be a big boy yet, you're still not qualified to perform basic functions.

These precautions may assist you in keeping his anger at bay.

* * *

**Three.**

Halfway through the scale, it’s pretty awful but not as bad as he can get, which, you suppose, is both sad and relieving at the same time. Threes still allow you some semblance of fighting back; you can run and dodge and hide but deep down, you know he’ll always be one step ahead of you.

He’s larger, taller, stronger. He’s the man you’ll never be, and it’s terrifying, but you can’t let him back you into a corner. If you let him, he wins, and you’re left with nothing but tattered dignity and purple marks all over your body. When he raises his voice, always hide the way you clench your sword just a little tighter, angle your body a little bit so he doesn't hit you where you’re already bruised and beaten.

Block his hits. Dodge as much as you can, and when he’s satisfied, run to your bedroom and take a breather. Press down on your wounds, let the ache spread through your shaky frame to make sure they're real, he’s real, he’s here with you and he wants you to feel the consequences of your inferiority.

So you do.

* * *

**Four.**

Strider fours are usually the result of a snarky retort. Ideally, nip this issue in the bud by trying to level your words. Of course, this can be hard when the same statement is fine one day and completely unacceptable on the other—but his volatility isn't going away any time soon, and you'll just have to work around it somehow. Survival of the fittest.

In spite of that, a four means you obviously didn't follow the advice above. It means you'll have to relax when the weapon swings down, because flinching makes you stiff and stiffness makes it hurt.

If you fight back, it is likely he'll pin you down. If this happens, remember Lalonde’s advice and don’t fret. Do your best to avoid panicking by focusing on something safe. It may be hard, because essentially everything can be used as a weapon by him—but try and think of the weight of the shades perched on your nose, pay full attention to the tight fabric of the shirt you’ve long grown out of but still wear, rub your middle finger and thumb together over and over until your fingerprints fade away. Repetition is good. Repetition is relaxing.

Breathe. Apply ice pack to wounded area. Lock yourself in your room and hope that’s good enough.

* * *

**Five.**

Cry. Set all your inhibitions free, ground yourself through the tears running down your face and the burning of your strained throat. If you sob hard enough, he’ll take pleasure in it, which is fucked up but it's all you need. Beg him to stop. Let him get his kick out of fucking you up forever.

When he’s done, he’ll leave you alone and mutter something like _fucking brat._ Press your ear to the bathroom door, try to hear any footsteps over the ringing in your head. Make your best educated guess as to when he’s gone and try to recompose yourself.

It’s always a one man effort. You can’t talk to your friends like this, they’ll realise something is up, so you must stay in the corner behind the bathroom door, doing your best to even out your breaths. When that’s done, shift to the position where it hurts the least and avoid putting all your body weight on a single spot. Blow your nose—gross, but you have to breathe. Wash your hands, careful not to be too rough because he enjoys hitting them the most. He gets a kick out of straight up impairing you, making you unable to do the things you love the most.

Go on with living. Hope you can ever understand this fun brother, violent parent dichotomy he keeps swinging back and forth on, fully aware you never will.

* * *

**Zero.**

It’s easy to identify a zero because it’ll always feel like an utopia, something you couldn’t have dreamed of knowing before you were sixteen and stranded in a flying rock. There’s also an underlying fear of ephemerality: you’d do anything to keep living this dream, and every time you wake up and everything’s still there, you breathe out a sigh of gratitude and relief.

Ways to deal with Strider zeroes: pace around the meteor, reflexively calculating the strength of your steps so you don’t make too much noise, fully aware you have no reason (besides possible courtesy to sleepers, but the trolls don’t abide by your circadian rhythm anyway) to do so. Wince when you knock on Karkat’s door and it feels just a little bit too loud.

Greet Karkat, nod at him. Realise he’s not bothered by your interruption, inhale, exhale, he’s not a threat. Repeat this over and over in your head until you no longer need to. As always, he’ll speak in a calm, collected tone, and you’re suspicious he’s talked to Rose about your aversion to loud noises. You may allow yourself thankfulness.

Lie by Karkat’s side on a beat-up mattress you alchemised for film-watching purposes. Listen to his mechanical complaints about human customs and chuckle because you know he’s just trying to get a laugh out of you at this point.

When Karkat scoots closer to you, don’t freeze. Let him drape his arm over your stomach, even though the extra weight supposedly hinders your ability to escape. Don’t even think about the way he’s closer to the exit than you are. Let him absentmindedly tap his fingers against your chest, don’t seek out any distractions. You don’t need them. His claws don’t tear open, they heal.

Consider the warmth in your chest. Think about the implications of it escalating into something else. Realise there aren’t any repercussions, because, shit, you've been living by a made-up scale for years and now that’s been burnt to ashes amidst the clockwork. You don’t have to follow a guidebook anymore.

Don’t smother whatever’s budding in your heart.

Let it blossom into something beautiful.

**Author's Note:**

> cool


End file.
